


Except One Uncle

by Answer



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-20
Updated: 2006-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Answer/pseuds/Answer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maurice hesitated. Perhaps this hadn't been the time to bring up the unfortunate story of Uncle Amaury. It was really more of a family legend, anyway...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Except One Uncle

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the beginning of the song 'No Matter What' from the musical.

"No, I'm not odd, nor you. No family ever saner - except one uncle who…"

Maurice hesitated. Perhaps, given that he was trying to convince his daughter that she came from a perfectly ordinary lineage, this hadn't been the time to bring up the unfortunate story of Uncle Amaury. Much as she loved stories, this one wasn't quite appropriate right now. And it was really more of a family legend, anyway.

He gave her a sideways glance, wondering if she would pursue this inadvertent change of the subject. He thought he saw puzzlement cross her features for a moment, but she didn't speak.

"Well… maybe let that pass," he finished, quickly. Belle seemed even more distracted than usual, apparently not noticing what he had said. Relieved, Maurice continued.

It wasn't until later that day, as the light faded behind him and the trees of the forest closed in that he thought about Amaury again.

Amaury wasn't Maurice's uncle, and nor was he Belle's. Like both his father and his daughter, Maurice had been an only child. It was perhaps for this reason that they all three had become accustomed to spending time alone – Belle with her books, Maurice with his invention and his father, Gaspard, with animals. Amaury had been Gaspard's uncle, the brother of Maurice's grandfather.

Maurice had only once heard the tale of Amaury. It had been on a dark, cold winter's night around Christmastide and he and his mother had been sitting in front of the fire awaiting Gaspard's return. His mother had been darning socks. Maurice smiled at the memory. It had been the perfect evening for a spot of cosy family intrigue and when his father entered, rubbing his arms briskly to remove the cold from them, he had just the thing.

"My uncle Amaury," he had begun, encouraging the fire with a poker. "Now, there's a strange story."

 **  
**

* * *

Amaury liked to describe himself as a 'professional debtor'– a delightfully nonsensical description that somehow managed to sum him up completely. Amaury himself seemed composed entirely of a string of contradictions.

When the time had come for he and his brother to find a way to earn a living, Gaspard's father had chosen honest labour and a conventional country life. Amaury, by contrast, had gathered his inheritance and made his way directly to the capital, where he had purchased two dinner suits and proceeded to masquerade as a fine – if somewhat financially-challenged – gentleman. Being witty and dashing – a useful attribute in Paris society, with its obsessively-groomed young women – he had quickly found himself invited to a string of balls and dinner parties, all the time being fed and entertained for free. How precisely he managed to do this for so long is a mystery that had long remained unsolved by the time the particular story began, but the main thing is that he did.

The carriage that he was presently riding in had been loaned to him by a wealthy friend who believed him more than capable of returning the favour in a suitable manner at any time. He was using it to make the journey from Paris to a little countryside village, though the reasons for this were as yet unclear.

Gaspard Aurvergne was thirteen years old when it happened. No longer a boy and not yet a man – but still considered old enough to work. He was apprenticed to a blacksmith in a village only half a day's walk from his home and often on a Sunday, once he had attended church with his master, would make the journey on foot to spend time with his parents. He was happy enough with his lot. His master was good to him, he had a dog that he always kept with him and fed with scraps from the table – he had always wanted a dog – and he had companionship enough with his parents and the friends he'd made.

The road between the two villages was long, flat and dusty, and often whilst making his journey he would be overtaken by well-to-do merchants and businessmen in their carriages. Sometimes they had ladies with them who smiled and waved to him, and he would smile and wave back. On this particular day, though, he saw only one carriage and in it there were no ladies – just one man, a stranger. This was not particularly unusual.

Gaspard looked up to watch the carriage pass. The sun caught the windows and was reflected, so that he could not see in – but Amaury could see out.

"Woah!" came the shout from the carriage, a deep voice rich with a Parisian accent that had not yet been entirely perfected. " _Attends_!"

The carriage duly slowed and stopped. Puzzled, so did Gaspard. He watched, slightly awed, as the man climbed from his carriage. As was the only judgement Gaspard could make of him, he was tall, not so young as Gaspard himself and yet not so old as his father, and handsome. He also looked peculiarly familiar.

"You, boy."

"Monsieur?"

"Do you know the village up yonder?"

"Like the back of my hand, sir, I grew up there."

" _Magnifique._ Do you know the farm there?"

" _Oui_."

"There is a farm hand by the name of Aurvergne – do you know anything of him or his kin?"

Gaspard hid his thoughts in his expression. "Indeed, I know his son very well."

"Perfect. I'll give you two francs if you direct my driver there."

The bait was most definitely taken. Gaspard finished his journey home sitting beside the driver of the fine carriage, while the mysterious gentleman rode within. When they pulled up outside the house where Gaspard had passed the years of his infancy, he climbed down and knocked on the door.

"Mama! _C'est moi,_ Gaspard!"

His mother came to the door, her hands white with flour, for she had been making bread. "Gaspard, _mon cher_!" she cried running to embrace him. She stopped short what she caught sight of the carriage. "What's this?"

"This gentleman asked to be taken to meet Papa. Asked for him by _name_."

"What gentleman?"

Amaury's eyes met those of Gaspard's mother and he smiled, knowingly.

" _Bonjour_ , Maria," he said, calmly. "Is my brother at home?"

Gaspard's astonished gaze flashed back to his mother, who laughed.

"Gaspard," she said. "This is your uncle Amaury Aurvergne."

"Well, well, well," smiled Amaury. "You must be my nephew. The last time I saw you, Gaspard, you were no more than a baby."

And, just like that, Amaury had entered Gaspard's life. He was to remain there for some time, enjoying free room and board and entertaining the family with various anecdotes from the city – at least in the evenings. Throughout the day, to all intents and purposes, it was as though he had never come.

Gaspard's dog was a mutt. Its parentage was something of a mystery, since Gaspard had found it as a wandering stray, but it was good-natured enough and would have followed Gaspard everywhere if he had let it. It certainly never showed any inclination to run away. But when Gaspard came home one day to find that it had disappeared, that seemed the only possible explanation. After all, it wasn't as though anyone would have stolen it. It was a mystery even as cryptic as the puzzle of where exactly it was that Amaury went every day.

Both mysteries, as can be guessed, were interlinked, though for the purposes of Gaspard's version of the tale, neither were solved.

 **  
**

* * *

If it had ever occurred to Amaury to wonder why the man across the table wore a hooded cape whenever they met, he had never actually done so until now. That showed just how distant his thoughts had been over the past few weeks.

This had all begun some months ago, when a letter had been delivered to his address in town. It was unsigned and the seal bore only an initial – "V". It had been possibly the single shortest letter he had ever received. " _Money,_ " it read, " _Riches. Reputation._ "

To say Amaury had been interested would be something of an understatement.

And now this was where it was about to end. On one side of the table, Amaury shifted uncomfortably in an awkward wooden chair. On the other, his mysterious contact sat straight-backed and silent. Between them, a pack of cards was neatly stacked.

"Are you satisfied with the stakes?" the figure asked eventually.

Amaury couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something strange about the voice. Something that made him feel uneasy. Still, no matter. It was, after all, perfectly ridiculous to be made uneasy by a voice rather than the words it spoke. He took a deep breath. "Yes," he said. "I am."

"Then," said the voice. "We play."

Amaury nodded once. " _D'accord_."

It turned out to be the single worst mistake an Aurvergne would make for a very long time.

Perhaps it should be noted at this point that it was some time after the dog had disappeared.

Considering what he stood to gain, the stakes had seemed fair enough – until he'd lost, anyway. After all, there hadn't been a girl born in the family for generations, and he had no intention of risking one himself. On reflection, perhaps his decision had been rash, but he still wasn't quite convinced that it hadn't been worth it.

"Now," said his opponent. "You understand the consequences of your actions?"

"I do."

"The next daughter born to your family…"

"Shall be yours to deal with as you wish."

"Correct."

There was a pause. The figure seemed to be waiting for the very question he was considering asking.

He licked his lips, suddenly nervous. "I–I realise that it wasn't within the terms of the wager, but – I wonder if you could tell me…"

The voice sounded amused. "If I could tell you what I intend to do with this young woman?"

"Yes. I … think you mentioned something about a matter of great importance?"

"Would you like me to look you in the eye and tell you honestly?"

"Um… yes, please."

"Very well." The figure raised a thin, pale hand to its head and drew back the hood. Amaury watched with interest, then surprise.

"You're a woman!"

And she was, as was all too apparent. Her face was pale and flawless, her lashes dark and her pale hair long and flowing. All in all, she was a perfect vision. Her crimson lips parted in a smile.

"Well done, Monsieur Aurvergne. You are not quite such an ignorant _bête_ as I had first thought."

" _Bête_ ," Amaury repeated, quietly. For reasons he couldn't begin to imagine, the word sent shivers down his spine. The first of its meanings seemed to fit well enough in the circumstances – it described idiocy, foolishness. The other meaning was animal, creature… beast.

"Now, allow me to improve upon my offer. I will not tell you of this young woman's fate, I will show you." She smiled again. "But first, I must say a few words. Firstly, you may rest assured that any harm that comes to her will be of her own doing. Though perhaps, if she is to be anything like you, that will not be of a great comfort. Second…" She paused, as though calculating the correct way to phrase her next comment. "She is to be faced with a decision that could bring a man to ruin or save an entire kingdom. Oh, and monsieur –"

" _Oui_?"

"She will be beautiful. Beautiful and trapped – and all because of you. I can't help but feel you deserve some sort of punishment…"

Those were the last words Amaury remembered before he fell into what seemed like a kind of sleep. Images swirled before his eyes. He saw a room, finely attired, yet cold and empty. He saw shadows, of strange alien shapes, heard whispers but saw no people. He was blinded by a flash of light, then left in darkness. His eardrums were pierced by a sound somewhere between a lupine howl and a cry of utmost human despair. He saw a ruined painting and a broken mirror – the one of a handsome young man, the other containing the reflection of a beautiful young woman. He heard a scream, then shouting – and then, clearer than anything he had ever seen before, he found himself gazing upon a rose trapped in glass.

Then the world went black. By the time he awoke, the woman had gone.

This family legend, like all family legends, had been subject to a little distortion over time – not helped by the account given by Amaury on his deathbed, which involved the heroic rescue of a small poodle using only a feather and a blade of grass. What can largely be agreed upon, however, is that before a week had gone by, Amaury was stark raving mad.

It was the most peculiar illness the doctors had ever seen. A man who had been of perfectly sound mind and with no history of mental health problems to suddenly deteriorate into utter insanity within just a few days – they were baffled.

That said, Gaspard's father had had his suspicions after said doctors had been heard to say, " _Mon Dieu_! Something we cannot solve with leeches!"

Amaury's last words formed the greatest mystery that the Aurvergnes, who had thus far been a perfectly ordinary rural family, had ever been left with – and it was for this reason that the story was surviving throughout generations.

Amaury's last words were, " _amour, rose, magique, belle, bête, espoir_."

Clearly the ravings of a lunatic.

 **  
**

* * *

"Papa," Maurice had begun, tentatively, as Gaspard finished his tale.

" _Oui_?"

"There haven't been any daughters in the family since then, have there, Papa?"

"No. My Papa had only one son, and so did I. If you've any luck at all, so will you."

Now, Maurice frowned at the trees as he recalled the story. He had never thought of this before. By his father's definition of it, clearly Maurice was unlucky. But he didn't feel that way. After all, his beautiful daughter was his pride and joy – something that would never change, especially not because of a silly fireside story.

But how would he feel if something _did_ happen to her?

 _Amour, rose, magique, belle, bête, espoir…_

Somewhere close by, something howled.

 _Love, rose, magic, beautiful, stupid, hope…_

 **Wolves**.


End file.
